


Tradition (Tradition)

by A_Diamond



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Cultural Differences, Established Relationship, Holidays, Inappropriate Use of Christmas Tree, Jewish Castiel, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 00:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12899925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond/pseuds/A_Diamond
Summary: “Look,” Aaron said more seriously, “it’s been how many years since high school? It’s about time you got together with your idiot and figured out a shared tradition that’s meaningful to both of you, instead of getting grumpy about it. Welcome to the modern reality of the blended family.”Dean has loved the town Christmas tree his whole life; Cas has resented it for almost as long. They work out a compromise.





	Tradition (Tradition)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ri for the inspiration and Janet for the solidarity. And, as always, this is for all the miscreants in Tropefest.

The tree loomed over a good half of the small park in front of city hall, almost thirty feet tall and at least half as wide. It had been hauled in the week before, but decoration didn’t start until the first of December, as was traditional. All throughout December, local families were encouraged to come and add their own decorations to the tree, ornaments and garlands and bows.

Every year, even from when he was less than a year old, Dean went with his family to tuck shiny baubles in the lower branches of the tree. Dean loved the tradition. He loved Christmas, and all things to do with Christmas, and the whole town coming together to celebrate Christmas. The tree going up was the start of the holiday season for him, and he was delighted to see it standing proudly in the square.

His boyfriend, considerably less so.

Because it wasn’t actually the  _ whole _ town that came together to celebrate. There were exactly two Jewish families in the tiny hometown he shared with Dean, and Cas came from one of them. He didn’t want to begrudge Dean his favorite holiday, but it stung to have the month-long reminder of his otherness be so deeply beloved.

It was a Christian symbol, no matter how much people tried to insist that it was a secular, cultural celebration, not a religious one. That only held true if your secular, cultural heritage came from a Christian background.

There was no town menorah.

“There’s still time to find a nice Jewish boy and not have to deal with it,” Aaron offered helpfully when Cas called for his annual Christmas complaint session. Aaron had moved away to the west coast as soon as he’d reached legal adulthood; his last three boyfriends had been a lapsed Mormon, a practicing Catholic, and—he didn’t actually remember what the current boyfriend was. Or his name.

“I’m going to tell your bubbe that you pierced your schmeckel,” Cas muttered.

Aaron snorted. “Do it, I dare you. Then I’ll tell her that you were the first boy to put your hand on it and I’m still pining after all these years.”

“I didn't!” Cas protested, horrified.

“You did. Right after my bar mitzvah, remember?”

He remembered. “You thought your foreskin was growing back as punishment for stumbling in your aliyah. There was nothing sexual about it!”

“Your hand, my dick. That’s all I’m saying.”

Sighing, Cas pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, “Why am I still friends with you?”

“Because being a Jew in small-town Kansas sucks but you refuse to leave your goyfriend. I’m the only one who understands your pain.”

“Don’t call him that,” Cas muttered for the hundredth time.

“Look,” Aaron said more seriously, “it’s been how many years since high school? It’s about time you got together with your idiot and figured out a shared tradition that’s meaningful to both of you, instead of getting grumpy about it. Welcome to the modern reality of the blended family. Marry that shiksa already.”

Cas hung up on him. But he also kept thinking about that advice, and by the time Dean announced he was making his annual trip to the tree, Cas was ready.

“I’ll come with you.”

Dean stared at him as he got up and pulled on his jacket. “Really?”

“Really.”

The excitement on Dean’s face was enough to convince Cas that his efforts were worthwhile. Then his expression fell, just as quickly. “I don’t have an ornament for you.”

Dean’s decoration of choice for the year was a fairly simple silver bauble with his initials sharpied on. Every December brought a new ornament for the town tree, and Dean almost always drew or painted on them himself. Since ornaments taken to the tree didn’t return after Christmas, Dean said he—and his parents, from whom he’d gotten the habit—didn’t want to waste too much money. But Cas had seen Dean making them for years, and even if he didn’t always make it a masterpiece, he was always invested in the process.

“That’s fine. I don’t need to put an ornament on the tree, Dean. But I know you do, and that it means a lot to you, so I want to be there for you. We can find a way to make this a good tradition for both of us.”

Beaming, Dean grabbed Cas’s puffy winter jacket and used it to pull him in for a long, heartfelt kiss. “I fucking love you,” he said.

Cas was tempted to call the whole thing off in favor of getting Dean to push wim up against the wall and kiss him like that again for a few more hours, but he had plans. His plans could wait until it was darker out, but Dean liked to be with a crowd when he hung his token; it brought out the feeling of community he enjoyed in the ritual. If he got distracted for too long, he’d want to wait until the next evening to go. They could kiss more after.

Still, he stole another taste of Dean’s lips before shooing him toward the door. “Come on. You’re driving.”

Their townhouse was close enough to the square that Cas only had to listen to two Christmas songs in their entirety before Dean pulled into the public parking lot across from city hall. Though the sun was beginning to set, people congregated around the tree. It wasn’t as late as the fading light made it feel, since the dark came early with winter upon them, and a few little booths with hot drinks and treats encouraged people to use the square as a gathering place all through the month.

The crowd was a mixed blessing. It delighted Dean, providing him exactly the sort of communal setting he’d been hoping for, and he smiled and greeted nearly everyone by name as they ambled around—Dean didn’t go straight for the tree, instead wanting to look at all the wares on offer and chat with folks. But it was a small town, and everyone who knew Dean also knew Cas, and they all knew that he didn’t usually accompany Dean to this.

Reactions to his presence ranged from surprised-but polite smiles, which Cas returned, to one man from Dean’s work exclaiming how wonderful it was for Cas to finally “getting into the Christmas spirit.” He gritted his teeth through that one until Dean extracted them.

But for the most part, people were just quietly welcoming. Cas relaxed into the peaceful evening atmosphere; it was impossible to ignore the festive surroundings and the real reason why everyone was gathered, but that also wasn’t the only thing happening. Aside from that conversation and a few Merry Christmas wishes, there was barely any holiday talk at all.

They mingled for maybe an hour, talking and browsing, before Dean decided it was time to make his mark on the tree. Cas waited on the side of the square as Dean picked out the perfect branch for his bauble. Grinning all the way back to Cas, he asked, “Ready to go?”

“No. Let’s stay a while.” Cas kissed the surprise off of Dean’s lips. “It’s a nice night and the spiced hot cider smelled good. We can grab a bench, just sit and enjoy it.”

“Wanna do some people watching?”

Dean looked so smugly pleased with his guess, and any other day it would have been right. So Cas nodded, took Dean’s hand, and led him to the cider booth. Their drinks were hot and delicious, a good blend of sweetness and spice that warmed them as the evening got darker. The square emptied out, but every time Dean suggested they head home, Cas deferred.

“I’m enjoying this,” he said with his nose pressed into the hair behind Dean’s ear. “Come on, we’ll get another drink and watch the stars come out.”

Dean’s breath huffed out in a cloud in the chill air. “Is this our new tradition?” he asked.

Cas snuggled closer, one arm around Dean’s shoulder and the other dropping down so his fingers could caress Dean’s thigh in the secret space hidden from view by their bodies. “Hmm,” he said. “Something like that.”

A shared mocha and warm jam pastry later, the square was almost empty; even the booths were packing up. Dean half-dozed against Cas’s shoulder as Cas watched the tents go down and the stars come out. Only a few sparkled bright enough to be seen past the lights, but they were enough to indicate that night had well and truly fallen. Still, Cas waited until absolutely everyone had left before rousing Dean.

“Time to go home?” Dean asked, voice thick with sleep as he stretched. Then he caught Cas’s smile, the one that had preceded most of the times one or both of them got grounded, and that woke him up quickly enough. “What? What are you planning?”

Grin widening, Cas nudged Dean to his feet, then stood beside him and held out a hand. “Trust me?”

“Not a chance,” Dean said, but he grinned back and laced his fingers with Cas’s, let Cas tug him toward the center of the square as he continued to demand Cas tell him what they were doing.

Stopping only to kiss his protests silent, Cas pulled Dean all the way to the base of the tree. Down at the bottom, the branches had been trimmed away to leave about two feet of space between the lowest needles and the paved ground, and it was there that he directed Dean next. Dean didn’t go so easily that time.

“Are you trying to shove me under the tree? What the hell, Cas.”

“Yes. You’re going to go under the tree. Then I’m going to go under the tree. Then you’re going to fuck me.”

Dean almost fell into the tree with how fast he spun to look at Cas. “Come again?”

“Get me to come once first, then we can see about repeats.”

“I mean, run that by me again? Because I could swear it sounded like you just said—”

“I want to fuck under the giant tree,” Cas confirmed.

“That’s, uh. That’s new and unexpected.”

“Not really new.” Cas wound his arms around Dean and kissed just below the ear before murmuring, “Remember senior year, after our class camping trip?”

Dean’s dirty chuckle as he tilted his head to give Cas better access to his neck was clear confirmation, but he still argued, “Yeah, and I’m sure I don’t remember doing it under the Christmas tree.”

“True, it was the day after that the tree went up. But I was so mad at the tree that year, even more than usual. You know why?”Tongue peeking out between his lips, Dean shook his head.

“I wanted you to think of me every time you walked past that bench. We kissed for hours, I thought I’d be able to enjoy at least a few weeks of you smirking when we passed it. Instead,” Cas scowled, then hid the frown against Dean’s throat to mutter, “that damn tree was there the very next morning and it was all you could see or talk about.”

Turning in his arms, Dean stared at him.

“You were jealous of the tree?” He was very obviously trying not to laugh; when Cas narrowed his eyes in a glare, instead of bringing Dean’s mirth under control, it just drew the laughter out of him.

“I was always jealous of how much you exited you got for the tree,” Cas admitted grudgingly, “especially before we started dating. That was the first time I wanted to fuck you in front of it to prove a point.”

Dean shook as his laughter intensified. His next words came out in starts and fits, sandwiched between bursts of laughs. “You wanted to stake your claim. To get revenge. On an inanimate object.”

Before Cas could get too much grumpier at the mockery, Dean pressed his smile against Cas’s frown, kissing Cas until he was dizzy and the shape of their lips matched. It brought him back to that night, to the time when their rushed and desperate kisses had turned slower, deeper. When they’d realized there was no one around, that they had hours instead of just a few stolen moments away from the classmates they’d been cooped up with for a week.

“Cas,” Dean said gently when he finally drew away. “Babe. I’m sorry you felt that way, but I promise I never stopped thinking about you. When I saw the tree that morning, I was excited for Christmas because I knew what I wanted to give you. I made the decision the night we were out here, and I bought the ring after school that day.”

He’d never told Cas that before, not even when he’d dropped to one knee that Christmas morning and asked Cas to spend the rest of his life with him. On the one hand, it did make Cas a little more favorably inclined toward the ttree. On the other hand, he wanted to defile Dean underneath it more than ever.

“Fuck me,” he demanded against Dean’s lips. He rolled their hips together, one hand on Dean’s ass and the other at the back of his neck to pull him in for more languid kissing and nuzzling. “Right here, right now. Well, very close to here.”

He grinned lazily at Dean, knew from the way Dean’s eyes focused in on his lips that they were dark and wet from Dean’s mouth. When he urged them toward the space under the tree again, Dean didn’t protest again, just licked his lips and said, “Yeah, fuck, okay. If we get arrested, you’d better be ready for your mom to hate me for the rest of our marriage.”

“Stop talking about my mother,” growled Cas. “Get under there and take off your pants.”

“Bossy,” Dean noted without any real complaint behind it. Taking one last look around to confirm the area was deserted, he did so.

Cas followed, shimmying in next to Dean. Though they didn’t have much in the way of head room to work with, the broad base of the tree hid them easily once they scooted close to the center. And there was enough space for Cas to roll on top of Dean when they were in position, groping between their bodies to help with the pants that weren’t fully undone yet.

Taking them off all the way turned out to be both impractical and uncomfortable—Dean’s coat protected his ass from the cold ground, but not further. Leaving them at his thighs still exposed what they needed for this: his dick stood as straight and proud as the tree, and he stifled a moan into his lower lip when Cas gave it a few strokes in greeting. Then he turned the tables before Cas knew it, shoving Cas’s coat partway down to trap his arms and opening Cas’s pants as Cas struggled to wiggle free without falling or knocking the tree too hard.

He hadn’t escaped by the time Dean had his pants and briefs down far enough to reach under the coat and slide a finger down the crease of his ass. But he stopped trying at that point, because Dean’s sharp breath was victory enough.

“You’re wet,” he said in wonder. “How can you possibly be slicked up, we’ve been out here for hours.”

“Magic. And a lot of really good lube. But there’s more in my pocket, and a couple condoms so we don’t make a mess.”

Dean’s smile flashed in the twinkling lights that filtered down through the boughs. “Always the boy scout, Cas. Which pocket?”

It took more fumbling than Cas had planned for Dean to get the supplies out of his coat pocket and roll a condom over each of them, though to be fair, he hadn’t planned for Dean to refuse to let Cas help with it—or use his arms at all. But it still wasn’t long before Dean had Cas turned over, back resting on Dean’s chest and coat rucked up, with two coated fingers making sure Cas was ready for him.

“Do it,” Cas groaned, barely remembering to keep his voice low. “Dean, now.”

As Dean obligingly withdrew his fingers and lined up to rock into him, Cas’s face was pushed up into the lowest branches of the tree with every move. Even when his head fell back against Dean’s shoulder, too overwhelmed by Dean’s hand wrapping around his dick to support it anymore, he could feel them brushing the tip of his nose and chin.

There were two things he knew for sure:

First, he’d never be able to smell a pine tree again without getting a little wood from the memories. Second, it would be memories, plural; because Dean was fucking him with such enthusiasm that loose needles shed down on them with each roll of his hips. This would definitely be turning into a tradition for them.


End file.
